


When the Voices in Your Head Won’t Shut Up

by ScripStrel



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, I don’t either, Jeremy has no idea what he’s doing, M/M, No Smut, Post-Canon, Post-Squip, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 07:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17762483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScripStrel/pseuds/ScripStrel
Summary: Jeremy couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts straight.Literally.Fucking intrusive thoughts were really starting to get on his nerves.The title implies angst, but I promise it’s not at all.





	When the Voices in Your Head Won’t Shut Up

Jeremy's intrusive thoughts were going to be the death of him. And he wasn't even talking about the ones that inexplicably still came in Keanu Reeves's voice. Really, in terms of self-hatred, he'd been a lot worse.

No, the thoughts getting on his nerves now were the ones that, honestly, probably _deserved_ a shock down his spine.

Who just imagines making out with their best friend out of nowhere? A fucking creep, that's who.

Well, and Jeremy.

He'd really, really tried to ignore it. Said that he was just touch starved after the Squip's hyper-masculinity training, or getting the chills because basement and weed, or lonely because he was dealing with the backlash of his breakup with Christine. Those were all normal, not-fucking-creepy reasons to want to be bundled in Michael's arms, or crushed underneath him in the most massive cuddle puddle you could conceivably have with only two people.

And, well... Maybe he just wanted to kiss him because he missed kissing in general. Obviously Christine wouldn't be kissing him anymore, and Michael was the only other person he spent enough time with to really be a reasonable vessel for his lack of coping mechanisms. Plus, he had some really inviting lips, soft and pillowy and either wrapped around a slushie straw or soda bottle or quirked up in a smile that licked tongues of tingly fire up Jeremy's neck.

He was shocked out of his denial after he woke up from his fourth sex dream about the guy.

No! He hadn't been stupid enough to think the first three meant _nothing,_ but he also… well. He knew he'd been frustrated lately. And Michael was _there,_ usually curled up against his back while he slept because they'd reinstated their whenever-they-could slumber party tradition and Michael was a koala bear in bed. Thank fuck Jeremy slept soundly enough that, no matter how much morning wood he woke up with, he didn't try to like… grind against the mattress.

But, see... The fourth one had been... Well...

Intrusive.

Not a nightmare, per se, but way, way too vivid (and it snuck up on him, which was so not fair). Now, it wasn't uncommon for Jeremy to have bad dreams about being Squipped. Honestly, he was just lucky he wasn't having them constantly. So when he fell into dreamland and was met with a fuzzy VR-scape that was halfway between Jake's bathroom and the wings of the school auditorium, he thought he knew what he was expecting.

Dream Jeremy couldn't move his legs. Okay. Alright. This was a nightmare he'd had before. Except...

"Do you wanna hang for a bit?"

That was _not_ Chloe.

It should have terrified him to have a mental image of his best friend leaning up to him, pressing hot whispers to the shell of his ear, playing into his worst fucking nightmare, but the clouds of the dreamscape were much too warm for that. Shocking how the absolute worst night of his life—the actual assault he’d suffered at the hands of his own stupid decision to swallow that pill—could be twisted to turn him on. Of all the things. Maybe it was because the not-asleep part of his brain knew he was actually safe. Maybe it was because being around Michael—even demented sexy Dream Michael—could always calm him down. Maybe he was just that horny.

The dream, hopelessly fuzzy as all dreams tend to be, didn't _show_ him his best friend, but Jeremy's imagination was able to do what his subconscious wasn't: his hair tousled and fluffy, his cheeks flushed, his eyes dark, his fingers working at Jeremy's skin with all the dexterity of a lifetime wasted on video games, shooting sparks with every trail, those lips searing coals against his neck, his chest, lower. Lower.

_Lower._

Really, it was a miracle he didn't wet the bed, but Jeremy woke up with the most painful situation of his life, halfway to groaning before he'd even blinked open.

'Cause, see, it wasn't just that he had an overactive libido (he did) or that it was so much more vivid than usual or even that he hadn't been prepared (he hadn't found time to relieve himself in at least a week, and that was _ridiculous_ by his standards). It was that it was _Michael._

Familiar. Comforting. Warm and friendly and oddly distracting when Jeremy let his mind wander.

Maybe he should’ve just sucked it up and accepted that his friend was super hot. It wasn't exactly new information. Jeremy had always been able to notice that Michael's eyes were a really nice shade of brown. Seriously, looking him in the eye was like drowning in a vat of coffee, especially when he was high and they were blown wide. He'd always known Michael's hair was unfairly soft and all sorts of nice and silky between Jeremy's fingers. The petting was always at Michael's request and always made him purr and Jeremy's spine go soft. He'd always known that Michael's arms wrapped around him were perfect. The secure weight Jeremy needed to ground himself, even before the touch started sending waves of heat along his skin. And his lips. He'd already talked about his lips, but they'd been at the forefront of Jeremy's mind a lot lately, so he found it kinda rough to talk or think about much else.

But it wasn't _just_ all that. Jeremy would do anything for his affectionate idiot of a best friend. Yeah, idiot was probably the best word. They were both complete and utter morons, and Jeremy wouldn't ask for it any other way. He probably couldn't make it through the day without Michael's goofy grin or the ridiculous bounce in his step or the long-winded rants about whatever caught his fancy. The guy was a ball of sunshine, and he warmed some kind of core in Jeremy's stomach.

You know, like, the Observatory from _Mario Galaxy_ that's powered by the stars you collect by beating each world? Yeah. Every one of his interactions with Michael sent another sparkling Power Star spiraling into Jeremy's Observatory, rocketing him through space.

Which was all great. All fine. All totally _normal_ for lifelong best friends (although, if he was being honest...). Jeremy's fucking intrusive thoughts were just complicating things (...he was starting to wonder).

And it was starting to get really, really annoying when things got complicated _every fucking time_ they were together.

Late-night walks to 7-11 weren't a new thing with them. They needed fuel for gaming all-nighters, after all. And yeah, the neighborhood streets were cold as shit in mid-February, but Jeremy couldn't bring it in himself to care. Michael was bopping along ahead of him, staving off shivers "by keeping my blood moving, man!" and for all the familiarity, Jeremy struggled to keep his mind out of the ice-filled gutter.

"You do realize that most things in the universe slow down when the get cold?" Jeremy asked, voice muffled by the scarf draped over his mouth. He plunged his fists deep into his coat pockets and stomped at the numbness in his toes but he was still an actual popsicle. Yes, even with his mind darting unbidden to _very_ hot things.

Michael scoffed back at him, breath steaming in front of his glasses. "We get it, you've been studying for a Chem test," he said," but c'mon! Thermodynamics can wait for Monday."

"Not when I'm pulling a cool D in the class," Jeremy muttered into his scarf.

Michael stopped short and Jeremy almost slammed into him. "A _cool_ D?" he said. The smirk was evident in his voice. That damn smirk that made Jeremy's blood simmer. That smirk he wanted to devour off his face, even when he couldn't see it, and that alone made something within Jeremy twitch.

"Uh, yeah?" Jeremy scrunched his face up in question.

Michael grinned at him, candle-bright and searing. "Can't even keep your grades warm, can you?"

The heat dimmed as Jeremy rolled his eyes. Why did he find this endearing, again? "That was terrible. It didn’t even make sense."

With a shrug, Michael said, "My jokes are just too fire for this weather."

"You need to shut up before I punch you." Jeremy's teeth chattered, which totally made his threat more intimidating, shut up. Totally attractive, too. Not that he cared if Michael found him attractive or not. Nope. Not at all, and not at all because he knew he probably wouldn’t. “You’ve been spending too much time with Rich. His stupidity is rubbing off.”

“You’re just mad I have someone who will actually listen to Weird Al with me again,” Michael said.

“Hey!” Jeremy protested. “It’s not my fault I grew out of him.”

Michael smirked at him, bumbling their shoulders together. Jeremy pretended the contact didn’t burn a little. “Uh huh,” he said, “and you totally aren’t just using that excuse to hide the fact that you got way too freaked by his fake-y Lady Gaga costumes.”

“It was weird!” Well, at least his embarrassment was keeping him decently warm. Unfortunately, it was also making his skin tingle and his idiot brain was very attached to just how easily Michael could make him hot and bothered and wondering how much further that could go. “Sixth grade Jeremy was traumatized.”

Michael laughed. “That’s the whole point, Jer” he said. “Weird is the whole brand. That’s why it’s in his fucking name.”

Jeremy wouldn’t admit that he breathed a sigh of relief when the 7-11 fluorescents started shining on the horizon, but he could feel his flush dissipate. “Thank fuck,” he said.

Michael gave an approving whistle. “Yeah, man. It’s freezing out here.”

Jeremy glanced over at him, entirely unprepared for the way his face was scrunched and pink against the frigid wind. Entirely unprepared for just how _close_ his face was. It would be so easy to just lean forward and—Damnit. His blush was back. “W—what ha—appened to keeping your blood moving?” Jeremy blamed his voice crack on the cold.

Michael shoved him, and Jeremy couldn’t keep himself from chuckling. “I slowed down to walk with your sluggish ass, didn’t I?” He grabbed Jeremy by the hand and broke into a trot, pulling him along to their concrete oasis. Jeremy’s head was reeling. He wondered vaguely if either hypothermia or frostbite would do that, but he was just making excuses at this point. Michael’s hand was warm and soft in his. It sent waves of heat up his arm, settling deep in his stomach like he’d just drank a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Of course, it also burned just enough that he might’ve chugged it. Michael was grinning and pulling him along, and it was like Jeremy was being reeled in by his navel instead of his hand, judging by the persistent squirming in his stomach.

Holy fuck. His coat was riding up. He was reaching back to maintain his grip on Jeremy’s hand, and his coat was twisted around him, scrunched in just the right way to show a strip of skin.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Damnit.

Jeremy, lost in his embarrassed, boiling haze, stumbled over his shoes in the parking lot. He tripped into Michael, who made a noise of surprise before they both crashed into an out-of-order gas pump.

Jeremy tried to squeak out an apology, but his words got stuck in his throat. He was _pinning_ Michael to the broken machine, and either his eyes were deceiving him, or Michael was just as flustered as he was. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. His mouth half-open somewhere between shock and—and _something_ else. Something Jeremy had a feeling he’d been feeling lately. His cheeks were dusted red, and somehow Jeremy could tell it wasn’t just from cold anymore. Jeremy’s brain—his fucking awful brain that had apparently decided to make a nice cozy home in the lowest gutter—suddenly flashed images of some _very_ _different_ situations where Michael could be under him, looking just like that, and he couldn’t help but give into the oppressive heat in his skull and in his chest.

Michael made a muffled noise of surprise when Jeremy crashed their lips together, and Jeremy really couldn’t blame him. All the hot hunger that had been building and burning inside him was poured into the kiss, sizzling between them. He was about to pull away—apologize for his awful impulses—but Michael relaxed and pressed back, and Jeremy’s brain had officially fried.

They pulled apart, the air hot around them. Michael’s glasses were steamy, and if Jeremy thought he was red before, he had seriously underestimated. He also knew he probably wasn’t much better.

Jeremy coughed, somehow being the first to find his voice. “I, uh... Sorry? I just.” He swallowed. Now or fucking never. “I kept thinking—A-a part of me really wanted to do that... So I did it.”

Michael’s kiss-shock suddenly dissolved, and he smirked. Small and his eyes were still _so_ _warm_ and Jeremy had to hold himself back from kissing him again. “You’ve been spending too much time with Christine,” Michael said. “Her adorableness is starting to rub off.”

Jeremy just snorted. “You’re just mad she got to kiss me first.”

“Well, kinda,” Michael said with an embarrassed half-shrug.

Jeremy’s confidence was returning in waves. “Also, I don’t think ‘adorableness’ is a real word,” he said.

Michael, by contrast, was still radiating shaky, pink heat. “Shut up! I’m still processing.”

Michael’s hands were warm and strong on his arms. The stale gas station streetlights glinted on his glasses, and his lips were pouting half-open _right_ _there_ , and Jeremy let himself cave to temptation again. Every point of contact stung like a sunburn, and every brush of breath between them sent shivers along Jeremy’s neck, especially with Michael’s hands trailing up to caress the back of his head. Michael finally pulled away, gasping for breath. “We should talk about this,” he said.

“Just let me enjoy my dream come true for a minute.” Jeremy knew he was right. He knew this could end really, really badly if they just jumped into shit without an actual conversation. He knew that his impulses were not to be trusted and that he couldn’t just let his stupidly selfish internal monologue hurt Michael again, but he also felt like his insides were being steamed, and the mushiness in his chest wasn’t allowing for much headspace towards anything else.

Michael snorted. “That’s sappy,” he said, glaring playfully at Jeremy. Well, at least he didn’t seem to be angry. “And knowing you, you horny bastard,” he continued, “it was probably a sex dream.” Michael apparently saw Jeremy’s minor moment of guilt, because his eyes widened and he went strawberry red again. “Please don’t tell me you actually had a sex dream about me.”

Jeremy swallowed. “I didn’t have _a_ sex dream about you,” he said carefully.

That did _not_ make Michael any less red. He gripped Jeremy’s hair tight, which sent hot sparks up his spine, but he’d worry about that later. If he was lucky, he’d get to act on his intrusive thoughts now that the ice was broken. But he was getting ahead of himself. “Holy shit, Jer,” Michael said.

Ah, fuck it. “I had like four,” said Jeremy.

Michael fought down a flustered grin and rolled his eyes, and Jeremy let himself lean in again. “Jeremy Heere,” Michael hummed against his approaching lips, “you are going to be the death of me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell I’ve never had a sex dream? Haha, yeah.  
> Sorry for any formatting issues. Something’s up with my computer’s hard drive, so I posted this on mobile, and I’ve never tried that before.  
> I adore feedback, so please feel free to tell me what you think!


End file.
